Friday, October 30, 2015

They clobbered the delphiniums and turned

Them underground. They made the sedum payFor blooming late and changeably--One Plant,One Hue, they chanted as they beat them upAnd down. We named the battered garden Mud,The sit in by the sundial, whilst the birdsEnjoyed the spoils of spoliation, WormsFor Everyone. And everyone a worm.

They came back in the spring with bitter breathAnd threw their rotten carrots at the gnomes,The real ones, elder statesmen, not ceramicCutiepies. They pissed on the fallen leaves.And they looked hungry, empty hearted, spent,As if their gods just really hadn't cared.

Monday, October 19, 2015

This morning I can taste the air.

It tastes like fall and resin. SpringIs gooier. No need to shareThis news with birds, who already singInsistently. The seed is swell,They say. Bring more. And make it fast.They sample the air. A guy can tell.Black Bird is coming home at last.

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

Your arras, that's a dicey thing.
It keeps the damp away, the chill
old ghosts convey. A curtain ring
moves by no wind and then hangs still,
though spirits pass on either hand.
A toast, a toast. A rheumy dude
is run through unannounced, unplanned,
helped on into his desuetude.

Outside the sky in winkled shades
promises much, delivers few
from evil. Here be younger blades
who row, who row, the sort of crew
no castle keeper does without.
The Prince himself prefers to doubt.

Saturday, October 03, 2015

This appeared inAngle. It has been slightly altered since then.

Down by the river the trout are laying bets
Per croquet hoop. They swear like Fielding fish--Damme this and Bloody that. They're old ones
With cheeks that frogs would eat. Here unafraid,
They list to port and pass it to the left
And praise the neighbors' sheep and curse the day
Electric lights infested county skies.
Crooks, not hooks, still in the adverse flow,
They praise monogamy, but that's a joke
Told when women go the separate way
Appropriate. They do not fear the fly,
A thumb upon their scales, or lemon sauce.
These are the myths told small fry. They are men.